The Old Magic of Christmas: Yuletide Traditions for the Darkest Days of the Year (11 page)

Claus) and Aschenklaus (Ashy Claus). All had been chris-

tened with variations of the saint’s name, but there was

nothing saintly about them. They all liked to beat chil-

dren with birch rods, except for Aschenklaus; in his hand

the saint’s crosier had devolved into a walking stick to the top of which he had knotted a bag full of ashes. It was with this that he clobbered naughty children, turning them just as ashy as himself.

These “Nicholases” all brought gifts as well as instru-

ments of corporal punishment, but they never pressed

the nuts and apples into the eager children’s hands; they

strewed them over the ground or floor as the medieval Pel-

zmarten had done before them. This strewing may be one

of the most ancient rituals of the season. In eastern Lithuania, the father of the house used to scatter different kinds of grain over the farmhouse floor on the Eve of Epiphany. The children gathered the grains in their laps then sorted them to see which crop would fare best that year.

Creatures of Forest and Mountain 81

The Dream of the Rod

In the old days, most children experienced more than just

the threat of a beating on St. Nicholas’ Eve. Before they

could pick up their treats, it was compulsory to feel the

sting of those birch twigs across the backs of their fingers.

The apples and nuts that the Pelznichol brought have long

been recognized as tokens of fertility, and so has the kiss of the lash. The birch rod, as wielded at Christmastime,

functioned more as a magic wand than as an instrument of

pain. From England to Austria, the apple trees themselves

were beaten in winter, and
they
certainly hadn’t done anything wrong. Rather than being “beaten into submission,”

the recipient of the blow was beaten into long life, good

health and productivity. In Finland to this day, Christmas Eve would not be complete without a good switching with

a handful of leafy birch twigs in the sauna.

Sometimes, the Pelznichol would simply scatter the rods

along with the goodies, while the stealthier St. Nicholas will tie a few twigs to the gifts as a matter of course so that the child waking in the morning will know that
he knows
. In early Protestant Germany, the treats were tucked inside the bundle of rods left by the Christ Child. All of these token twigs may have survived from the very Christmas-like

Roman festival of Kalends when Pagan Romans exchanged

strenae
to mark the beginning of the New Year in January.

In later times, these strenae took the form of sweetmeats, little clay lamps and coins bearing the double visage of the god Janus, but originally, strenae were branches cut from a sacred laurel grove belonging to Strenia, goddess of vigor.

The message conveyed by both the sticks and the more sub-

82 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

stantial gifts was the same: the giver wished the recipient to enjoy a year of light, warmth, wealth, good health and good things to eat.

Of course, none of this prevented nightmares of the

dreaded rod from interfering with the sugar plums danc-

ing in children’s heads as St. Nicholas’ Day approached.

The Pelznichol eventually faded away, so in those regions

that did not enjoy the services of a Krampus or Knecht

Ruprecht, the saint himself was left holding the
Rute
17 as it is called in German. It is only right that this magic wand should have passed at last into the hands of St. Nicholas

whose full title is St. Nicholas Thaumaturgus, a worker of wonders.

European postcards of the Victorian era make it clear

that the switch was nothing less than a ritual tool. While sometimes it is a simple bunch of birch twigs stripped of

their leaves and bound once or twice with osiers at the base, it is just as often gilded or festooned with colorful little flags. It might be the size of a bottle brush or as bushy as a small tree. This year, as the fifth of December approaches, allow yourself to be inspired by the shopkeepers of central Europe who decorate their windows with birch twigs

dressed up in tinsel and tiny white light bulbs. Done right, an oversized
Rute
can take the place of a tabletop Christmas tree. And nothing says, “I know what you’ve been up to but I love you anyway,” like a bundle of twigs tipped with gold glitter and studded with chocolates.

17.
Rute
comes from the same root as “Rood,” the Old English term for the cross on which Christ died.

Creatures of Forest and Mountain 83

The Buttnmandl

We turn now from the shop windows of the town to follow

the jangle of cowbells up into the shadow of the Berchtes-

gadener Alps where the very Sendakian rumpus starts on

December 5. Even now, bobbing human bundles of straw

known as
Buttnmandln
are descending through the twilight of St. Nicholas’ Eve to “surprise” their fellow villagers. Each Buttmandl is strapped round the waist with three deafen-ing cowbells—two small, one large—which can be heard

more than a mile away, so there’s really no surprise at all.

They are preceded by the good saint, a white-robed angel

or Christ Child figure, and several devils dressed in furs and Krampus masks. Though the straw effectively obscures

their faces, the Buttmandln, too, wear masks. These ritual masks are known as
Larven
in German, instead of the more usual
Masken
.
Larve
comes from Latin
larva
which denotes both a mask and an unquiet ghost.18

Stopping at the first house in the village, St. Nicholas

delivers his sermon and his gifts. Both the devils and the straw monsters try to wait patiently until the old man has finished, but a few of them can’t help twirling their long whips of braided leather. As soon as the saint has finished, they step in, grab whatever unmarried girls happen to be

hanging about, carry them outside and tumble them in the

snow. Hint to the girls: Though massive, the Buttnmandl is 18. The carving of these
Larven
is a folk art, but some of the inspira-tion may have come from the fanciful and sometimes frightful Romanesque carvings in which Berchtesgaden abounds. The St.

Peter and St. Johannes Cloister contains a part-human, part leo-nine stone visage whose generous tongue, like Krampus’, extends well beyond his teeth.

84 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

easily overpowered—knock him over and he can’t get up

again. The fur-clad devils, however, are harder to outrun.

Devils with outthrust tongues, young bachelors dressed

as harvested stands of grain, brandishing long whips as

they pursue their girlfriends: it’s hard to miss the fertility aspects of the
Buttnmandllauf
which translates roughly as

“Running of the Riddle-Raddle Men.” Happily, these liv-

ing wheat sheaves are still running strong today. If you happen to be in the Berchtesgadener Alps on the evening of

December 5 and hear the discordant ringing of cowbells,

you’ll know you’ll soon be greeted by the sight of this rustling parade. Though both devils and Buttnmandln are

blessed with holy water before they set out, they belong to a religion much older than Christianity. I think old Berchta, whose Alps these are, must be pleased at how well the monsters have held up.

The Bells of St. Nicholas

With the exception of Black Peter in his newfangled page’s costume, none of these frightful characters would think of leaving the house without their bells on. The wearing of

bells and other jangling things is a universal means of protecting the wearer from evil or simply opportunistic spirits.

There are those who would regard the copper bells sewn on

a Siberian shaman’s tunic as the precursors of the harness bells worn by Santa’s reindeer, with the Pelznichol bridging the chronological gap. If you are going to follow that line of thinking, then you should probably also count Moses’

brother Aaron, whose priestly skirts were trimmed with little golden bells, among Santa’s direct ancestors.

Creatures of Forest and Mountain 85

The truth is that with very little effort, a bell can be

made to tinkle prettily or jangle incessantly: it makes music practically all by itself. This must have seemed nothing

short of magic to the ancients, especially when we consider that bells are made of metal, a material which was itself

brought into being through an apparently magical pro-

cess. Wherever there have been bells, they have been used to ward off unseen and undesirable influences.

Because they wear bells, and because they spare not the

rod with all its inherent blessings, we must accept the fact that these rough and often hideous creatures that come

bounding out of the forest at the onset of winter are not at all evil. We have already witnessed the demotion of the god Woden to ghostly huntsman and watched the elves grow

small. Could St. Nicholas’ attendants be cast-down fer-

tility gods? Or do they descend from the
Svartalfar
, those Black Elves about which Snorri Sturluson had so little to

say? While they may never have ranked as high as the Light Elves, these dark spirits were apparently indispensable.

Rather than force a tenuously Christianized community

to do without them, the Church sprinkled them with holy

water and incorporated them into the saint’s retinue where they remain to this day.

St. Nicholas’ triumphant entry into Amsterdam each

year would seem strange without Black Peter loping along

beside the bishop’s white horse. Children in Central Europe still hide under the furniture when Čert or Krampus comes

tramping in, and German children hide behind their par-

ents at the first glimpse of Knecht Ruprecht. As for the Pel-86 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

znichol, he did not go quietly but got his rambunctious

second wind in the New World.

The Bellsnickle

The Pelznichols were among the first dark Christmas spir-

its to make it to North America. As soon as they got off

the boat, many of them doffed their fur coats and put

on patched jackets instead. As the new spellings of their

name attest, the most important part of the Bellsnickle’s, Bellschniggle’s or Bellsneakle’s costume was now the harness of sleigh bells. Back in the Rhineland, they had already disentangled themselves from the date of December 6

which is, after all, a saint’s feast day and therefore not in the spirit of Protestantism. Those who were engaged to make

house calls now did so on Christmas Eve.

Also present in Nova Scotia and West Virginia, the Bell-

snickle was the dominant strain in the eighteenth to early nineteenth century Pennsylvania Christmas. When the

German Bellsnickles met up with the Celtic ritual of mum-

ming, the two traditions merged but the new one retained

the name of “belsnickling.” Along with the Bellsnickle came the Christ-Kindel whose name is a dialectical shorten-ing of
Christkindlein
, the Baby Jesus, but who was usually imagined looking more like an angel. While in some parts

of Pennsylvania the Christ-Kindel remained the silent,

stealthy gift-giver whom good children expected to fill their baskets by Christmas morning, he eventually developed an

alter-ego, the Kris Kinkle19. Although the Kris Kinkle never 19. Further dialectical developments would produce “Kris Kringle”

which had become a synonym for Santa Claus by 1845.

Creatures of Forest and Mountain 87

gave up his name, he soon shed his white nightshirt for the Bellsnickle’s get-up: a makeshift mask or face blackened

with burnt cork, a tow wig and plenty of bells either sewn or strapped on.

Adjectives used to describe these Bellsnickles and Kris

Kinkles in the newspapers and diaries of the day include

“hideous,” “horrid,” “frightful” and “abominable.” Imag-

ine such a face appearing at your window as darkness fell

on Christmas Eve. The typical Bellsnickle announced his

arrival by tapping at the glass pane with his fat birch switch or slender rod. Many of them also carried whips. The Bellsnickle always knew who had been naughty. When he

entered the house, he scattered hard cookies and candies

like chicken feed over the floor where the good children

were allowed to gather them up. The other children had to

dodge the switch or whip in order to snatch their prizes. At first, the Bellsnickle received no payment during his visit; the parents settled up with him behind the scenes. Under

the influence of the mummers, however, the Bellsnickle,

who was usually a teenage boy, began to expect wine, cider, cakes and even money when he showed up at the door.

Each neighborhood really only needed one Bellsnickle,

but that did not stop other young men disguising them-

selves and roving the snowy countryside just for fun. Soon, the streets were filling up with young ruffians whom the

townsfolk had begun to find annoying rather than enchant-

ing. Once belsnickling lost its parental stamp of approval, it devolved into a Halloweenish gathering of local youths who rambled through the streets in off-the-rack costumes.

88 Creatures of Forest and Mountain

The Yule Lads

Iceland, too, has its share of frightful creatures roam-

ing the farms at Advent, but they don’t start showing their faces until six days after St. Nicholas Day which is a non-event in much of Scandinavia. They are the
Jolasveinar
, the

“Yule Swains” or “Christmas Lads,” who begin their official invasion of Iceland on December 12. Thirteen days before